Elio and the Order of the Peaches
by ennathecookiemonster
Summary: "Elio. Elio Perlman." "Nice to meet you, Elio. I'm Oliver." Elio narrowed his eyes. "Just Oliver? Isn't that a bit...unprofessional?" Oliver chuckled. "If you feel uncomfortable calling me by my first name, you can of course just call me Professor...but you would be the only one in this class." AU: Student Elio & Oliver as Professor at Hogwarts, loosely follows canon of CMBYN film
1. Chapter 1

(Disclaimer: I don't own any of the CMBYN or Harry Potter characters, nor do I make any money from this.)

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hi there :)**

 **This is an AU in which Elio is a student at Hogwarts and Oliver the art history teacher. There will be some magic, obviously, and the story sort of follows the main events of the CMBYN film. I didn't read the book, so there might be some deviations when it comes to the characters' feelings and actions.**

 **Elio is still 17 in this story, so underage, while Oliver is around 30.**

 **English is not my mother language, so if you find any spelling/grammar mistakes, feel free to tell me.**

 **Any kind of Feedback is always appreciated,**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 1

"Hogwarts. One of the oldest and well-renowned schools for wizards and witches. Hogwarts has been home to some of the most brightest and famous minds of the whole world… They don't particularly spare with compliments, do they?" Elio said and scrunched his nose at the paper in his hands.

Mr. Perlman looked at him through the rear mirror. A faint smile was playing on his lips and he seemed amused with his son's demeanour. "Shouldn't you know that thing by heart by now?"

But Elio didn't pay any attention to him.

"Just listen to this!", he continued to read from the paper: "…home to some of the most brightest and famous minds of the world, like Albus Dumbledore, defeater of Gellert Grindelwald, awarded order of Merlin first class, blah blah blah, later on Headmaster of Hogwarts. Survivor and defeater of Lord Voldemort: Harry Potter, as well as current Minister of Magic, Hermione Granger." He shook his head. "The list goes on and on. But not a word mentioned about the fact that they also educated Voldemort."

"Well, who would write that into an info letter?" His mother chuckled. "Come, give that to me. You've done enough complaining."

"I'm not complaining! I'm just…analytical. That's all."

Mrs. Perlman rolled her eyes at him. "Just wait and see. Maybe it's not so bad after all."

"I wasn't saying it's bad." Elio mumbled, as he looked out of the car window and watched the passing traffic. London was just as grey and rainy and full of people as he had expected it to be. It didn't do much to lift his already bad mood.

"He's just scared that his nose will be running for the next two years." Mr. Perlman grinned, as he pulled onto the parking area of the Londoner train station.

Elio snorted. "Yeah, right. You do realize that you could be sending me to the outmost part of Scotland? Where ever that blasted school even lies."

"Oh, darling." His mother sighed and tousled his curly dark hair. "I'm sure, there will be enough going on inside the school to let you forget about the bad weather. And it's only two more years after all."

Elio hummed half-hearted. He knew he had to stop with all the complaining. He could already see the first signs of worry in his mother's eyes, although she knew just as much as he did that there was really no reason to worry about him. Elio wasn't afraid of starting at a new school or making new friends. He had never been angry that they were moving around so much. The career of his father had given him the opportunity to experience growing up in many different cultures and it certainly was nothing he regretted. But as exciting the opportunity of his father teaching and researching at the University of Cambridge had sounded in the beginning, Elio still found it rather difficult to feel at home in England. Hogwarts itself sounded exciting, of course, but just the thought of its location, somewhere in Scotland, made his stomach turn.

"I guess, I just have to learn how to forget about Italy." He sighed, when they came to a halt and he climbed out of the car.

Mrs. Perlman put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him with her, while his father loaded his case and owl onto a cart. "You are just idealizing it, dear. And it's about the school anyway, isn't it? Just think about all the new friends you are going to make! And all the different subjects! They even offer an art history class! Remember you were all excited about that?"

Elio had to admit the thought about an art history class in a school where everything else revolved entirely around magic sounded great, to say the least. In his last school in Italy the closest thing to "arts" had been an extracurricular choir course. Which had only been for girls. Yes, art history classes sounded like heaven in comparison.

"So, where is that entry?" Mr. Perlman asked aloud what they were all thinking, when they arrived at the platform.

He was a muggle, just as his wife. But the two, being historians and thus curious about everyone and everything, had quickly come to learn everything about the wizarding world. For a few years now it had been tradition that Elio would send them as many books as he could get his hands on. But now that they were standing on the platform between nine and ten, he was just as lost as they were.

"It says to go through the hidden gate between platform nine and ten." His mother read from the paper.

"Well, there's just a wall!" Mr. Perlman huffed.

"Dear, shouldn't you know by now that in Elio's world, nothing is as it seems?" Mrs. Perlman walked passed him and curiously searched the wall. And to their collective astonishment, her hand disappeared right through the bricks. "I am brilliant." She whispered to herself, before she turned around and waved the two men over to her. "Come on, now! Or Elio's going to miss his train!"

Mr. Perlman shook his head in admiration. "That woman."

He pushed the cart towards the wall and Elio followed, suddenly feeling much more light-hearted than before.

Going through the secret passage was like stepping through any ordinary door, with the only exception that in one moment Elio was marching straight ahead into a wall of bricks and in the next moment he was standing on a different platform. His eyes immediately landed on a scarlet-red locomotive that was blowing thick clouds of white steam into the air. A dizzying amount of people in strange robes and with wands and owl-cages in their hands were swarming the platform like excited bees, and although Elio had felt rather depressed only minutes ago, he could no longer fight the rising excitement in his stomach at the sight of all the wizards and witches around him. Finally, there was some real anticipation for the new school. Maybe this was a new country, a new school, a new chapter in his life. But it was still his world. A world full of magic. He turned to his parents and smiled, because for the first time in weeks he had the feeling that the last two years of school could actually turn out to be quite interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As Elio had expected, Hogwarts was indeed quite different to any of the other wizarding schools he had attended in the past. While it did lie way up in the north of Scotland, was made of rough stone and looked rather imposing and repellent from outside with its high walls and many towers, that didn't keep Elio from feeling at home the second he stepped foot into it. Everywhere seemed to be light. Huge window panes ran along the outer hallways and where natural light was not enough, an infinite amount of torches, candles and chandeliers enlightened the corridors. The first days after his arrival Elio spent most of his free time with simply wandering through the countless hallways that made the castle more labyrinth than school, and looked at the many paintings that framed the walls. It reminded him of the Alhambra he had visited with his parents a few years ago. Endless corridors made of stone, bearing so much wonders to stare at. Well, if you had the chance to actually take it all in. Where it had been tourists at the Alhambra who had robbed Elio of his last nerve, at Hogwarts it were the students chasing each other about the corridors. And if it weren't students, there always was the risk of being disturbed by one of the castle's ghosts. The most bothersome being Peeves. But even with all the hectic and loud residents of the school, Elio had to admit he liked it. He didn't love it yet, but it was way better than he had expected.

On his first day, he had been sorted into one of the four houses, Gryffindor, and the people were bearable. A bit too upbeat and energetic for his liking, but definitely better than those he had seen in Slytherin. He had even made some friends already. Murray, one of the chasers in the Gryffindor Quidditch-Team, had taken it upon him to show Elio around and introduce him to everyone. Although Elio wasn't really keen on all the Quidditch-talk he had to suffer through when being in Murray's company, he appreciated the introduction to Murray's circle of friends. Most of them were girls and to his relief, they did not talk about Quidditch non-stop. Rather, they were interested in everything he could tell them about Southern Europe, which he did, because he liked the attention.

"But how come you're not more sun-tanned?"

"Oh, don't be so superficial, Amanda! It's just his natural skin colour! Is it true that it can get to up to fifty degrees in the shadows in summer?"

"In how many countries have you lived so far?"

"What exactly is it that your parents do?"

Elio knew it was only natural that their fascination with him would cease after a while, but until then he enjoyed being welcomed into his new house with so much interest. School itself was alright too. While the most subjects were overall quite similar to those he had been taught in before, what really excited him were the elective classes. In music class he could get his hands on actual muggle instruments. While the others fought over the magical instruments, Elio claimed an acoustic guitar and a dusty piano his own. And what excited him even more was that he had access to the room outside of class too and therefore could play some music in his free time whenever he wanted. But as intriguing as music class was, as disappointing was the course he had been rooting for the whole summer.

Art history, usually his favourite subject in his free time and the few other schools he had had the chance to take it in, turned out to be a major let-down. And that was all because of one person.

Oliver.

Oliver was the only other person next to Elio, who the girls talked about the whole week and at first Elio didn't quite understand why. Until he sat in class and watched him stroll in.

"He is so handsome!" Amanda whispered under her breath. "He's American, you know. He only arrived in June of last year. He's filling in for Professor Belmor, our actual art history teacher. He's doing some research this year, so we have Oliver instead. And he is…so…handsome!"

He was handsome, that much Elio had to admit. 6'5'' tall, blond, a smile that revealed shiny white teeth and apparently the only reason, why three quarters of the course had chosen the class. Elio didn't need long to figure out that most of his classmates were not interested in the course at all, but only in the teacher. And the way the American responded to the thirsty looks he was receiving, was enough to make Elio want to leave immediately. He wasn't just acknowledging them, he was encouraging them, flirting with the female students even. In contrast to most other teachers he didn't wore a robe, but a big blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the first two buttons undone. There was a casualness emanating from him that did not fit at all to everything else Elio had seen so far of Hogwarts.

"I see we have a new face. Why don't you introduce yourself?" The American asked, as he sat down on the edge of his desk and everyone turned their head to look at Elio. Elio kept his gaze firmly on the teacher.

"Elio. Elio Perlman."

"Nice to meet you, Elio. I'm Oliver."

Elio narrowed his eyes. "Just Oliver?"

"Just Oliver, yes."

"Isn't that a bit…unprofessional?" Elio challenged.

Oliver chuckled and Elio felt the hairs in his neck stand up. He immediately knew he didn't like him. Everything about him screamed American. But especially his nonchalant aura did not sit well with Elio. How was this man supposed to teach him about art history? He looked like someone who spent more time in front of a mirror or in the arms of women rather than brooding over history books and art works.

"If you feel uncomfortable calling me by my first name, you can of course just call me Professor." Oliver grinned. "But you would be the only one in this class."

Elio leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I don't mind, Professor."

Oliver cocked an eyebrow. "Whatever suits you, Mr. Perlman… Whatever suits you. Now" he turned back to the rest of the class "if I assume correctly then our literature this year is at least two hundred years old, isn't it?"

Elio watched him pick up one of the student's book and turn some of the pages, without really looking at them.

"Any suggestions where to start?"

Oliver's teaching style was just as different as his outer appearance. Not only was he unprepared, but he also made no notes whatsoever on the blackboard. Instead he just sat on his desk for the whole two hours and let the class decide, which part of art history they wanted to discuss. Elio felt betrayed. Here he was, sitting in one of the only two courses he had been looking forward to the whole summer and the incompetent teacher threatened to destroy everything. He couldn't even spend the time fooling around with his new friends, because they all hung on Oliver's lips as though he was the most interesting person in the world. Which of course he was not. He was unbearable. But that needed a male brain to understand.

"He is so amazing!" Amanda sighed two hours later, when they were having lunch in the Great Hall and Charlotte nodded enthusiastically.

Elio snorted. "If you like arrogant Americans, yeah."

"Oh bugger of! You're just jealous."

"Absolutely not."

"I mean, have you looked at him? He is so tall and handsome and..."

Elio decided to just stop listening to her and turned to the only girl in his new circle of friends who so far had not said a single word about the art history teacher.

Marzia.

She was a French girl, who had switched from Beaubatonx to Hogwarts two years ago and in contrast to her friends she seemed to be not quite as fazed by the pretty Professor.

"What do you think about him?"

Marzia shrugged. "He's alright."

"Alright." Elio repeated and shot a glance to teacher's table at the end of the hall, where Oliver was talking to Professor Longbottom. "Alright…I can live with that."

Marzia nudged him in the shoulder. "Come on, he's really not that bad. Stop thinking about him already."

"I'm not thinking about him."

"Of course you are. You're making as much a fuss about him as the others are."

"I certainly am not! I'm just…I mean, can you believe it? The way he talks to us? In this…casual manner? Like we're all friends?"

"So what? I like his classes."

Elio shook his head. "Just the way he said goodbye to us. Like he has to show he is so much cooler than all the other teachers. Cooler than any of us. 'Later'. Later. Who says that anyway?"

Marzia stared at him in amusement. "I don't know. Americans, I guess? What is your problem with him?"

Elio kept staring at the teacher's table as he answered. "Everything."

As though he had heard him, Oliver turned his head and their eyes met. Elio felt his cheeks redden with anger as the teacher only smirked at him and then, as though Elio wasn't worth the attention, turned back to Professor Longbottom. Elio directed his gaze at the sandwich on his plate. Yes, he hated everything about this teacher. Everything. From his horrid way of teaching to that godforsaken smile that made Elio's stomach churn in a way he could only interpret as disgust. But the thing that made him even angrier was the fact that Marzia was right. Why was he even caring so much? He didn't like half of the teachers so far. Some of them were just plain out boring, but he didn't complain about them, did he now? Oliver in turn… Alone the thought of him stirred a fire on his insides that he could not extinguish. Elio shook his head. He really had to care less.

So that's what he did. In the next art history lesson he decided that if Oliver could do casual, so could he. Instead of sitting next to Marzia, as he did in most classes by now, he took a seat in the very back, far away from all the girls who were fighting for the best seats in the first row. He slipped out of his uniform robes and, not even bothering to take out his notes, he propped his feet up on the table, crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited for the bloody American to arrive already.

"Mornin' class!" Oliver's voice boomed through the door and all heads except Elio's turned to watch him stride into the room. Elio raised his chin expectantly, when Oliver turned at the front, but to his surprise Oliver's eyes lingered only for a moment on him in the back, before he broke into one of his charming smiles and asked: "How's everyone doing?"

And class started like everything was normal. Elio felt his ears burn with humiliation at being just outright ignored like this. Not only did Oliver not seem to care about his improper behaviour, but none of his friends seemed to notice either. Their attention was glued to Oliver like flies to candy. Elio had the growing, dreadful suspicion that this was going to be the normal state of this class. Either he would have to fall under the professor's charm like everyone else or he had to bear being ignored by everyone. If Elio hated one thing then it was being ignored. And so, against his own plans, he started to listen.

"…good or bad. You are right, a four year old could have sculptured that, but would he have been able to sculpture it with the same feelings in his mind when doing so? With the same emotions? No, of course not! Just look at these curves and never ending lines. If there is anything we call beautiful then it is something like this."

"I disagree."

The discussion in the front of the classroom quieted down and everybody turned to look at Elio.

"Pardon me?" Oliver asked.

Elio allowed himself a short moment of inner victory, before he repeated: "I disagree."

Oliver crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Then please, enlighten us, Perlman."

"Well, you can't just reduce beauty to some attributes like that. In the end beauty always lies in the eyes of the beholder."

"Clarify." Oliver demanded.

Elio took his feet from the table and pointed towards the copy of a sculpture that was standing on Oliver's desk.

"Well, just because it has certain attributes that you might find beautiful in other art, it doesn't mean, the thing itself really is beautiful. Because what more is art than the meaning that we, the audience, the viewer, the listener, give it? It's just an object without our senses to respond to it. An object can't be beautiful in itself. We are the ones who give meaning to it. And as we all respond different to art, you can't just generalize and say this and that is beautiful to everyone."

To say that Elio was satisfied with the dumb folded reaction of his classmates, was an understatement. He was glowing with pride. There they had it, he knew just as much about art history as that so called teacher. But if he had expected a similar reaction from Oliver, he was mistaking.

"Well, well, well." Oliver said and the sounds of his hands applauding Elio was thrown back loudly from the walls of the classroom. "That was quite an argument you made there, Perlman. I'm impressed." It didn't sound at all as if he was impressed. Rather he was mocking Elio with that smug grin on his face and Elio could feel his ears begin to burn. "Please, do tell us more."

Elio leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine. That was all."

Oliver cocked a brow. "Was it?"

"Yes, Sir." Elio said and he slurred the 'sir' as much as possible.

"Too bad, we could have really used your input in this discussion."

Elio felt the self-satisfied expression drop from his face at the sudden change in Oliver's tone. Because this time he did sound genuine. And finally, Elio understood why all the others craved his attention so much. There was something in the way Oliver looked at people. As if he was not just looking, but really seeing them. As though he actually cared about what they were thinking, feeling even.

Elio felt his throat dry up. But before he could give in to the invitation, Oliver moved on.

"Anyway, back to tracks. Patricia, why don't you give us your interpretation of the piece?"

Elio slumped back into his chair and he could not stop himself from feeling disappointed, as the discussion moved on without him. For a short moment he had felt like this class might have been exactly what he had been expecting of it and more. A place of thoughtful, challenging discussion, where he could shine in front of the others. And then, for some reason he could not explain, he had missed that chance. But he was no one to give up and so he stayed behind when the doorbell rang, with the intention to finish his argument.

"Something I can help you with, Perlman?"

"Yes, about the sculpture-"

"So, now you do have something else to say, huh?" Oliver interrupted him. Amused, he shook his head and walked past him towards the door. "It's lunch time, Perlman. Go get something to eat, you look like you could need it."

"But Sir, I-"

"Later!"

Elio felt his jaw drop, when Oliver just walked out the door, leaving him standing alone in the classroom, his sentence unfinished in the air. Something told him that this was a word he was going to hear a lot from now on.

* * *

Please let me know if you like it :)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Ah, so good of you to join us, Mr. Perlman."

Elio just gave an unidentifiable sound when everybody watched him enter the classroom and fell into the seat right next to Marzia.

"Where have you been?", she hissed. "You missed the best part!"

"The best part, huh? Can't imagine what that must have been. Did he strip or something?"

"No, idiot! Look!"

Elio craned his neck to see a sculpture of marble stand on the teacher's desk. It was made of impossible intertwined round forms that were moving in a mesmerizing slow tempo and as he listened closely, Elio could hear a low hum emanating from marble moving against marble.

"Isn't that the Phidias Knot?"

"Do you really expect me to remember the name of that thing? Isn't it amazing, though?"

Elio stared at the sculpture. "It's beautiful. How did he get it?"

"It's not the original, he conjured a copy."

"What? You mean, this isn't the-"

"I am sorry to interrupt your little chat" Oliver called over to them "but would you please direct your attention back at Patricia? If you already decide to show up late to my class, at least show some respect for your classmates, Perlman."

Elio felt his cheeks redden, but he fell silent. While Patricia kept explaining something about magical art works, Elio watched in wonder, as the sculpture moved in itself. A knot of marble with no beginning or end, continuously shifting its form and position like a thick snake. He had only seen a photograph of it once and even though it had been a moving one, it was nothing to experiencing it in person. How could someone just conjure up a small wonder like that? Suddenly Elio regretted his decision to come late to class. What he would have given to see this kind of magic.

Elio was so captivated by the moving art work that he did not even notice how time flew. Oliver had to flip his fingers in front of his face to break him out of it.

"What's gotten into you, Perlman? Don't tell me you're also falling asleep now in my classes."

Elio looked around to find everyone gone.

"No", he mumbled and raised his head from where it had rested on his arms on the table. "I just…can I…" He got up and walked over to the marble statute. "Can I touch it?"

Oliver followed him with a surprised frown. "Sure, go ahead."

Carefully, Elio lowered his fingers to the sculpture. It was like touching a slowly moving grinder or a marble column while walking around it. He could feel all the tiny irregularities in the surface.

"How did you do it?"

"It's a simple reproduction spell. I basically just copied the original", Oliver explained and watched, as Elio let his fingertips wander over the moving surfaces.

"It's beautiful."

Oliver cleared his throat. "Phidias was a great artist."

Elio looked up and remembered where he was and with whom. "Yeah…yeah of course. He was."

He stepped back. For a few seconds Oliver looked at him, probably waiting for him to leave. But when Elio didn't, he just pointed his wand at the sculpture and mumbled a spell. Elio watched how the marble came to a halt and then crumbled to a normal apple. Elio took it in his hand and tossed it into the air. Because he could not stop his own curiosity, he took a bite and chuckled when it tasted just like any other apple.

"Unbelievable."

Oliver grinned, but somehow the smile did not quite reach his eyes. "Don't you have any other classes now?"

Elio wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shrugged. "Yeah"

"Go on then. Or are you making it a habit of coming late?"

Elio snorted. "It's just potions."

"Well…" Oliver looked at him expectantly. "Later, then."

Elio rolled his eyes, but when Oliver only kept staring, he put the half-eaten apple down on the desk and left without another word.

* * *

Art history became better, once Elio stopped being angry at Oliver's casual teaching style. Now that he knew that Oliver was not as incompetent as he had initially thought, he stopped acting like an asshole. But that didn't mean he treated Oliver with more respect than needed. Although he did show up on time now, he made it a habit of sitting in the last row and interrupting the discussions by throwing in some random comments whenever he felt like it. Oliver in turn seemed to enjoy their regular arguments during class, at least he never told Elio off because of his manners and even encouraged him, by asking for his opinion now and then.

"Nah, nothing to add, Professor." Elio would say then and he would grin smug, because he knew Oliver had to do his best not to roll his eyes at him.

"Your essays are perfect, right on point. I don't understand why you don't apply the same precision and motivation on a regular basis in class", Oliver sighed one afternoon, when he had called Elio back, before he could leave with the others.

"Well, it's the essays and exams that count, right?" Elio replied.

Oliver looked up from the paper he was about to hand to him and cocked an eyebrow. "So does that mean you don't enjoy my classes?"

Elio scratched his chin, trying his best to not smirk down at him. "They're alright."

"Alright?" Oliver repeated in disbelief. "Alright?"

"Yeah."

Oliver shook his head and pushed the paper into his hands. "Out with you."

Elio grinned and chased after the others.

* * *

In his first month at Hogwarts it took Elio quite some time to figure out that bad weather meant something different up here than in Italy. Bad weather meant you could not see more than five feet because the rain was pouring down so hard. Everything below that was deemed acceptable. When he finally adjusted to the different climate, he took up one of his former habits: getting up early and reading outside. In Italy it had been an amazing experience every morning. He would watch the sun come up and as soon as the light was bright enough he could start reading. Here, he was lucky if he found a dry spot under one of the trees by the lake.

This morning for a change, it was unusual good weather. The air was warm and some rays of orange sunlight broke through the grey sky of clouds. He had only just ignited his cigarette and turned the first page, when he saw someone running down the beach. Elio took a deep drag and while the smoke filled his lungs, he watched the figure come closer. It was a man on his morning run. And by the imposing height of his form it could only be one person. Elio exhaled slowly.

"Mornin' Perlman", Oliver said, when he came to a halt in front of him. He was wearing only a shirt and short, _very_ short, pants that gave view on his long legs.

"Morning, Professor", Elio replied and took another drag.

He expected some kind of comment on his smoking or at least an interested question on why he was up so early or what he was reading. But instead he only got one word.

"Later."

And he was off again.

Elio blew the smoke into the air and grinned.

God, how he hated that man.

* * *

"What do you mean, you're not coming?" Murray asked.

Elio shrugged. "I don't feel like it."

"But it's Hogsmeade! Come on, mate! Everyone's going!"

Elio rolled his eyes at the other boy. "So?"

"So?! It's _the_ happening! We're all gonna go to the three Broomsticks and get completely wasted!"

Elio closed the book he had been reading in until Murray had started pestering him. On second thought, going out did sound good. In the past few days Murray had been all caught up in Quidditch and the girls had been losing their heads over one of the Ravenclaw boys, which meant he had spent a lot of time in the music room with his guitar. Not that he would have complained about being on his own, but he liked socializing just as much and going to a pub and drinking together meant having a good time. He was always up for a good time.

"Alright"

And so, a few hours later, he found himself in a very crowded pub. Hunched between Marzia and Murray and cheering on Amanda and Clayton in their drinking game.

"Come on, Amanda!" He yelled and slammed his hand down on the table. "You can take him!"

Marzia was laughing so hard next to him that she had to hold onto his arm to not double over, while Murray was already ordering the next round. When it was Elio's turn to take on Murray in downing the shots as fast as possible, he made a big show of slipping out of his sweatshirt. Left in just his tank top, he earned quite some whistles from the girls. But he wasn't even half through the shots, when he noticed the cheering had ceased and the others' attention was on someone else.

"Look, it's Oliver!" Marzia said and pointed to the other side of the pub, where indeed the tall blond teacher had entered the room and was making his way over to them.

"I see, you're enjoying yourselves."

Oliver grinned, when he stopped at their table. Elio swallowed down the rest of the whiskey in his mouth and leaned back in his seat, suddenly feeling more sober than he should after three shots of fire whiskey.

It was like physics. Once Oliver entered a room, he was the magnet of all attention, without exception.

Elio watched, as Amanda invited the teacher to sit with them and started a conversation that soon ended in everyone shouting incoherently at each other. Oliver was laughing and from across the table he grinned at Elio. Elio smiled back, if only briefly. Maybe it was because of the alcohol, but suddenly he felt strangely disconnected from his usual don't-care-don't-mind attire. And so he just watched as everyone fought over Oliver's attention and the blonde did his best to answer all the questions.

"It's really not that difficult. Back in the day we used to play it all the time. Here, I'll show you."

Oliver rearranged the empty whiskey glasses and aimed his wand at them. One after one, they turned on their head.

"But what's even the point of it?"

"What's the point of any drinking game, Murray? You drink the shot, then turn the glass with magic and then go on to the next. Do try it out, if you think it's that easy. Because, believe me, after five shots of fire whiskey that gets quite hard."

Murray was not one to turn down a challenge and so a new round of drinking games began. However, after Murray let the second glass explode, they all thought it best to take a safer position before he moved on to the next. And so Elio found himself standing next to Oliver as he watched his friend slowly turn red while trying to turn the third glass with magic. The others were cheering him on and doing a great job of annoying the hell out of every other guest in the pub.

Although Elio was staring straight ahead, he could feel Oliver's eyes on him.

"You're awfully quiet, Perlman. You alright?"

Elio shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah."

"Ah, come on. It's just a game, have some fun!"

Oliver softly patted his shoulder. Elio didn't know whether it was the alcohol or the feeling of the older man's warm hand on his skin, but at the direct skin contact he suddenly felt so hot that he quickly slipped from Oliver's touch.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You alright?" Oliver asked and before Elio could stop him, he once again had his hands on Elio's shoulders. Elio felt his breath hitch, when Oliver buried his knuckles deep in his muscles and started to slowly massage him. "God, you are tense."

Elio did his best to protest. He didn't want to be touched that way. He didn't want to, because…because…for some reason that his alcohol-fogged mind could not fully grasp, he liked it. And that was just absolute bullshit. Why on earth would he like it? Maybe because Oliver's hands felt so perfect on his skin. So warm and big and strong that Elio could feel the touch vibrating through his whole body, leaving a hot tingling in his guts and making his toes curl. For a moment, Elio could do nothing else but just stand there, with parted lips and wide eyes, and feel unbelievable good and horrified to the bones at the same time.

One second longer, Elio thought, one second longer and I will collapse against him. I will just fall against his chest and touch him back. And I will look like a fucking idiot. Elio broke free and tumbled a few steps forward, but Oliver pulled him back.

"Hey, hey! Come on, relax."

"I am relaxed", Elio pressed from between clenched teeth. He could already feel goose bumps form all over his arms and he would rather die than have the American find out what kind of effect he had on him.

"No, no, no." Oliver gripped him harder than before to keep him from slipping away again. "You are tense like a bow."

"Oliver!" Murray called. "Look, I've done it!"

"Yeah, gimme a second! Marzia! Come on over here, feel this!" Elio's lips curled in anger, when Oliver pulled Marzia's hands to his skin. "See how tense he is?"

"Oliver!" Murray called again and the teacher patted Elio's other shoulder before stepping around him and with a "later" he left the two standing there and joined the others at the table.

"You really are tense." Elio heard Marzia say behind him, but he ignored her. His gaze was glued to Oliver's back. Why would he do this to him? What was it even that he had done to him? Why was he reacting so strange?

Elio felt sick. He felt so sick that for a moment he feared he would vomit all over his shoes, but the feeling ceased just as quick as it had come and he was left with nothing but a taste of bile in his mouth. In exchange the air suddenly felt so hot and humid in the pub that he could no longer breathe.

"I'm going outside", Elio growled and shrugged Marzia's small hands off him.

"Should I-"

"No."

He grabbed his sweater and stormed off. The air outside was cool and clear and Elio took it in with deep breaths, hoping it would flush the odd feeling right out of his body.

It didn't.

With a pained sigh, Elio fell against the outside wall of the pub. What was going on with him? How could a simple touch like that make him react so strongly?

Absentmindedly he rubbed his shoulder and he remembered vividly how it had felt just minutes ago when Oliver had done that. It had felt amazing. Like nothing else he had every experienced before. If he just closed his eyes, he could imagine him again. Standing right behind him. The warmth of his body against his back, so close that he made the hairs in his neck stand up with electric excitement.

But not close enough. How he wished he had come closer.

Elio exhaled with shaky lips. What was wrong with him? How could he crave more of something so…wrong? Because it was wrong, wasn't it? Craving the touch of a teacher of all people…

Elio stared at the cloudy sky above and shook his head. As nagging as the thought was, it was not nearly as strong as his sudden hunger for more. The hot imprint on his shoulder was already fading under the cold air, but the tingling in his guts stayed. Maybe it would pass too? But what if he didn't want it to pass?

What if he wanted to feel it again?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Four days of classes passed at the end of which Elio could not have repeated a single word the teachers had said. Not that he cared anyway. His thoughts were far away from subjects such as potions and transfiguration. He spent most of his time in the music class room. He couldn't really concentrate on his music, but being around the girls and their cheerful chatter this week just made his head ache.

What he needed now more than ever was silence. A break from everything to clear his head. But that got more difficult with every day that passed. During lunch time he would stare blankly at the teachers' table, where Oliver was sitting, and he would hope, he would wish, that the tall blonde would look at him. Just once at least, so he could feel that strange tingle again. Just to be sure it was still there. But Oliver didn't look his way and Elio was left in the strange state of having scratched at the surface of something incredible, but not having seen enough to be sure it was real, craving for some kind of validation.

By the time art history class arrived, Elio was an emotional mess. He hadn't slept well in days. He was constantly questioning himself. Maybe he had just imagined how good Oliver's hands had felt on his skin. Maybe he had been drunk. Maybe he was idealizing the moment? Questions like these were running through his head when he was finally waiting outside of the classroom. Unsure of whether to go in or not. He could already hear the others laugh and chat inside. But even though he knew there was nothing to be afraid of, something held him back. What exactly he was more scared of he could not say. That it was real or that it was not. What would be worse?

"Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to open the door for me?"

Elio whirled around and there he was.

Oliver.

Standing right in front of him. A huge box in his arms and looking at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"Yes, of course."

Elio hurried to open the door and Oliver quickly squeezed past him, not even giving Elio a chance to make room. For a split second Elio was drowning in the smell of his aftershave and cologne and he was glad he still had one hand on the door handle. Because suddenly the floor beneath his feet was swaying like a boat in the midst of a thunderstorm.

"Alright everyone!" Oliver called out in his usual good-humoured manner as he strode to his desk. "I hope you're all up for some first-hand art experience! Because boy do I have something to show you all."

Elio paused in the middle of the room and watched the others storm to the desk to cast a glance into the box.

"It's just tapestry!"

"What's it for?"

"You'll see, you'll see." Oliver grinned and with a flick of his wand half a dozen rolls of white tapestry flew from the box and wrapped themselves in one long ring around the walls of the room. "Now, watch and wonder!"

And with another silent command of his, the whole room changed in front of their eyes. Elio could hear sounds of amazement from the others, when the tapestry stretched and stretched in every direction, soon covering the walls and the ceiling and even the floor beneath their feet. But while everyone was turning their heads to watch as different colours appeared on the huge canvas, Elio's gaze was fixed on Oliver.

He was standing there as though he was all by himself. His arms apart and his head inclined in concentration as he was transforming the classroom into a real life architectural art work. His lips were moving without sound and his eyes were closed. He looked beautiful. So beautiful that it silenced all the questions in Elio's head and left him filled with nothing else but silent admiration and a new form of longing.

How could he have been so blind? He hadn't disliked Oliver. Not at all. He had only been intimidated by the sheer variety and strength of feelings the blonde provoked in him.

Finally Elio had to look away out of fear that the others would see him staring, because in that moment he felt as though all his feelings were displayed as clearly on his face as was the image of the art Oliver had cast. Elio recognized it faintly as a Chinese pavilion, but he could have never said which artist. He knew nothing about Asian culture. But he knew it looked stunning.

Red poles framed the walls, as if they were standing right in the middle of the pavilion and on the ceiling they could see an amazing spiral of golden ornaments run along the insides of a convincingly real three dimensional roof top. Lampions were hanging from the timbers and spread a discrete orange light. Elio was convinced that if he would just reach out, he could actually touch them. But the most stunning part of the illusion was the garden. While he knew that the posts of the pavilion had to be two dimensional and were part of the class room wall, the mass of green trees, bushes and plants behind them looked so real as though one could just step right out of the class room and into the garden.

Not for the first time Elio asked himself, how someone could create such beauty. What kind of brilliant mind did one had to have to create such an illusion just from memory? Despite its mesmerising beauty and detail, Elio felt his attention slip back to its creator. Oliver was currently surveying his work and the students' reactions with smug satisfaction.

Elio felt a tinge of fear at the sight. What if that was Oliver's thing? Sparking a reaction and then relishing in the fact that he alone had been able to bring it forth?

Elio dropped his gaze to the floor. Planks of dark wood ran beneath his feet and as he shifted his weight, he could hear them screech. So much attention for detail…

"What do you think of it?" Oliver's voice tore him out of his thoughts.

Elio cleared his throat. "It's…it's quite something."

Oliver nodded and looked around. "See the small engraving over there? What do you think it is?"

Elio threw him a side-glance. He was standing so close to him again. So close that he would just have to raise his hand…

"I don't know, maybe the signature of the artist?"

"Wrong." Oliver smirked at him. "It's the logo of the factory that produces thousands of these pavilions every year."

"So it's not even art?"

"Nope."

"Why do you show it to us then? If it's just…an ordinary Chinese pavilion?"

Oliver looked at him and his next words sounded like he was sharing a secret with Elio. "Maybe what is ordinary to them, is art to us."

With that he gave him a wink, before sauntering off to talk to the others.

Elio stared after him, speechless. The gears in his head didn't have to turn for long to come to the right conclusion. So, not only did Oliver remember his arguments from the very first day, he also had an answer to it.

He agreed.

Elio sunk against one of the red poles and watched the blond teacher sell the pavilion as _the_ most important art work of Chinese culture to his classmates. He grinned in bewilderment. If he was playing such a stunt on the others and included only him in it, did that mean Oliver actually liked him? Not just tolerate him as the know-it-all of his class, but did it mean he actually _liked_ him?

Suddenly he felt very nervous. Maybe he was imagining that one too? Maybe his fantasy was just playing tricks on him. Exasperated Elio turned his back to the teacher. Why couldn't Oliver be like one of those art works they were studying in class? Intriguing and beautiful, and _easy_ to figure out.

When it came to art, Elio usually knew from the first moment on what he was feeling. But now…

Elio ran his fingers over the engravings in the wooden pole of the illusionary pavilion. It felt real enough to him.

* * *

The last days of September were still surprisingly warm and sunny and so Elio spend as much time outside as he could. The big log by the lake had become his favourite place. Not only gave it a perfect view on the lake, but it was also close enough to the footpath where every morning, like clockwork, Oliver would pass by on his run. Some mornings Elio felt insecure of whether he should show up. Maybe his questionable intentions, namely to catch a glimpse at Oliver outside of the classroom, were too obvious? But in the end he always took his books and went there every morning. Because even though he wouldn't get more than a nod or the occasional "Morning, Perlman" it was totally worth it.

Since Elio had realized that he didn't dislike the art history teacher, but that in fact quite the opposite was the case, every word and every look Oliver directed at him seemed like the best thing that could possibly happen to Elio on that day. While he wasn't surprised about the attraction itself – a blind man could have figured out that Oliver was handsome – Elio was still thrown by the intensity of it.

He had been attracted to others before, both boys and girls. But never had he felt so strong about someone before. This time he actually felt like he wanted to…act on this feeling. Which of course was impossible because not only was Oliver way older than him, he was also his teacher and most important of all – in what world would a man like Oliver want anything from Elio?

Not that those thoughts changed anything, of course. He was watching and staring at Oliver whenever he had the chance, mesmerizing every smile he cast and cherishing every moment of attention he directed at Elio. He was starting to think about Oliver even when he was not around. When he was sitting in other classes, when he was lying in his bed, about to fall asleep, when he woke up, when he composed music. He was starting to become obsessed with the American.

Today was no different. Even though he was sitting in midst of his friends at the lake and was playing the guitar for them, his thoughts circled around Oliver.

He was so immersed in his thoughts and his music that he didn't even notice how the very person he was thinking about, stepped in front of him.

"What are you doing out here?" Amanda asked, immediately sitting up straighter.

"Oh, just the same as you. Enjoying the sun."

The familiar deep voice finally made Elio look up. At the sight of Oliver his fingers slipped from the strings.

He was wearing the first three buttons of his shirt undone, showing more skin than any teacher should be allowed. For a wonderful moment Elio could imagine the sensation of running his fingertips over Oliver's broad chest. Of being so close to him that he could feel him breathe. The thought made his own breath hitch.

"You alright there, Perlman? Don't let me interrupt you."

Elio tore his eyes from where they must have burnt a hole in Oliver's chest and found Oliver looking at him questionably.

"Elio was just showing us something he composed", Marzia said.

"You're composing?" Oliver asked with interest. "Please." He sat down in the grass. "Let's hear it."

Elio gripped the guitar a bit harder. "It's not finished yet."

"Well if it was good enough to show to your friends…"

With everybody looking at him expectantly Elio was left with no other option than to comply.

So he played.

He kept his gaze firmly on Oliver, not wanting to show any signs of weakness. But he found that all the initial tension was unsubstantiated. Oliver wasn't even directly looking at him. Instead he was watching Elio's hands. It should have made Elio even more nervous, but for some reason it calmed him. Being at the centre of Oliver's attention made him feel warmer than sitting in the sun.

Finally the last note faded and Elio dropped his gaze to hide the smile on his face. From the corner of his eyes he could see the others looking at Oliver expectantly and he too waited for what the blonde had to say. But when no response came Elio started to play again, hoping to fill the silence. He chose a different tune this time, a more cheerful one. It was one of his older compositions and so it fell easy from his fingers, without him having to think about the motions. His eyes wandered to Oliver's hand in the grass and to his delight he could see Oliver's finger tapping softly against his ankle.

Elio bit his lip to fight the grin that was threatening to break through. He could hear the others take up their conversations again, but he didn't care. In this moment he was only playing for Oliver. And Oliver was listening. That was all that mattered.

"Will we do some more classes on Asian culture in the next weeks, Oliver?" Amanda asked aloud and Elio's fingers paused on the strings.

"I don't think so, Amanda."

"Why not? It was so interesting!"

"Why don't we discuss that later? Let's listen to Elio for now."

Elio looked up upon hearing Oliver saying his name for the first time and their gazes locked.

"You're not tired of it yet?" He challenged.

"No", Oliver responded with an honest smile on his lips, before he lowered himself to the ground and closed his eyes. "Not at all."

Seeing how Oliver had just outright ignored all the attention seeking glances of the others and instead was waiting for Elio to start playing again, made his stomach flip. Of course he would never admit to the others that Oliver had such an effect on him. But to himself he couldn't lie so easily. And he didn't want to. He enjoyed that warm tingle on his skin that came with Oliver's glances. He enjoyed how the simple matter of Oliver wanting him to play some more music made him feel light and happy. So he kept playing. He kept playing while the sun wandered across the sky and made Oliver's hair reflect the golden rays of sunshine. He kept playing when his friends started a game of exploding snap and cheered each other on. He kept playing after the sun had disappeared behind the castle and his fingertips were hurting so much he would have normally long stopped playing. But just watching Oliver lie in the grass made him push through and so he kept playing and playing, until it was getting dark and the noise of the others leaving made Oliver sit up.

Elio waited while the last accord hung in the air and then put his guitar down.

"You coming, Elio?" Marzia asked.

"Yeah, just give me a second."

Elio walked over to the lake to and dipped his burning fingertips into the cool water. While he waited for the pain to suffice, he watched Oliver over his shoulder, hoping for some kind of response. Some kind of acknowledgement that he had liked it. A few words, a smile at least. But Oliver just nodded at him and then, with his usual "later", he left.

Elio turned back to the water in front of him and shook his head in silent amusement.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"…and with a last pinch of asphodel, the potion is left to simmer for exactly four minutes and thirteen seconds, before we begin with the sixth round of stirring clockwise."

Elio wasn't stirring anything. He had long given up on the miserable liquor that was bubbling in his cauldron. He had only chosen to continue with potions because he was a quite talented at it, not because he liked it much. But on days like these, when he simply lacked the motivation, all talent didn't help. What didn't help either was that the teacher was so young and frightened of speaking in front of students that he had to look at his book every other minute to check his instructions. With the teacher being busy with himself and the room filled with smoke, no one cared much to do anything and so Elio wasn't the only one who was busy with other things. Most students were just randomly throwing their ingredients into their cauldrons and comparing the experimental results.

"How are we supposed to learn anything from this?" Gareth Bailey complained. He was one of Elio's roommates and in this class one of the only ones who cared about the subject. "He is absolutely incompetent!"

"Relax, Bailey", Murray said and stifled a yawn. "It's not like you will need it later."

"So? It's still graded! Unlike others here I plan to actually make something out of me." He threw a pointy look at Elio who sat next to Murray and read a book.

"Anything you wanna say to me?" Elio asked without taking his eyes from the page.

Gareth scoffed. "As if I needed to say anything."

"Maybe just don't then and concentrate on your cooking."

Murray grinned wide. "Yeah, hear that, Gary? Shut your mouth and stir!"

Elio allowed himself a small grin when the other Gryffindor wanted to bite back, but Murray shut him down. On some days it paid off having Murray as a friend. It wasn't like he wasn't accepted by the others, but some of the Gryffindors were still less welcoming towards him than others. At the beginning Elio had thought it was just because he was new and they already knew each other for five years. But in time he had learnt that the house had "values" to uphold with all its famous predecessors like Godric Gryffindor, Dumbledore and of course the one and only Harry Potter. And so one either had to fight for the house by playing Quidditch like Murray, being a good team player, or simply applying oneself in class, like Gareth.

Elio did none of those things. He didn't care for Quidditch. He liked to party and socialize, but by the end of the day preferred to be left alone with a good book or his music. And while he was good in school, he didn't take it too serious. And despite all the good reputation the Gryffindor house seemed to carry, that was something most Gryffindors simply did not well with. But Elio couldn't have cared less. He had never bothered much what others thought of him before and he would certainly not start now.

Well, with one exception of course.

With one tall, beautiful, blond exception.

He'd stayed and listened to Elio play. He'd stayed, when he could have left on numerous occasions. That thought was circling his Elio's mind since the weekend and whatever he did during that week, it would not leave. Oliver had listened to him play. And he had stayed, because he liked it.

"You with us, Perlman?" Oliver's voice brought him back into the present, hours later, when he was sitting in the long awaited class of the week and yet again had become lost in his fantasies.

"Yes, Sir", he replied quickly and straightened in his seat.

Oliver smirked. "Then please, be so kind and share your thoughts on this piece with us."

Elio looked from Oliver to the thin figurines on his desk that he had never seen or heard of before and back at Oliver again. "No problem, Professor."

"Nice save", Oliver said, when class was over and they were the only two left in the room. Elio watched as Oliver collected his things and shrugged.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

Oliver threw him a glance and shook his head, smiling. "You might have fooled your fellow students, but let me remind you, I am the teacher here and it is my job to realize when somebody is serving me a pile of bullshit about art."

Elio grinned and jumped off the table to follow him outside. "You mean like you did last week with the Chinese pavilion?"

"Mh, don't put this on me."

"Well, as you so correctly said, you are the teacher here and-"

"Oliver!"

They stopped and watched a woman hurry down the corridor towards them. Once she stepped closer, Elio recognized her as Miss Hughes, the teacher for muggle studies.

"I hope I'm not late."

"No, not at all! Right on time." Oliver greeted her. "I like what you've done to your hair, Patty. Suits you well."

Miss Hughes blushed deeply. "Thank you."

"Well, see you next week, Perlman." Oliver winked at him, before he offered his arm to Miss Hughes.

Elio watched them walk off together and the smile slowly faded from his face. Never had he been jealous of a couple holding hands in the open like that before. They weren't even a couple. Oliver was probably just flirting with her like he did with the rest of the female teachers and half of the female students on top. But she did have her hand on his arm and although teachers were probably not really allowed to appear that casual within the confines of the school, no one cast a second glance at them.

No one cared.

Elio tousled his hair in frustration and turned his back on them. Suddenly all his appetite for lunch was gone. He spent the rest of the day in the music room. Desperately trying to get the image of the two out of his head, but failing quite miserably in the attempt. In the end he was angrier at himself than at Oliver or Miss Hughes.

How had he become so obsessed with Oliver in such a short amount of time? How was it that he suddenly felt so strongly for someone, whereas all his former attractions had been purely superficial? He'd liked a girl from his French school, because she was a great singer and had been just as keen on music. He'd liked a guy from his Italian school, because he was handsome and just as open-minded. But with both there always had seemed something at miss. Something that kept him back, something that made it not worth the trouble of pursuing them.

Now, with Oliver, he felt like he would explode someday if he didn't do something soon. But what was there to do really? He would never be able to walk down the corridor by Oliver's side, like her. He would never be able to claim him his own in front of others, even if just for a few wonderful seconds of flirting. The thought of claiming him his own was ridiculous enough already.

Elio sighed deeply and put his head down on the keys. The piano protested disharmoniously, but Elio didn't move. Maybe this was just the way it was supposed to be. Guys like Oliver had the whole range of women to pick from, while Elio was side lined to watch, but never allowed to touch.

Once Elio had come to that conclusion, watching Oliver during the meals became more depressing than ever. Most of the times he wasn't even flirting with Miss Hughes. But he wasn't ignoring her advances either and that was enough to crush Elio. He felt reduced to the good student again. As though Oliver just liked him for his wits in class and not for who he really was. Who he wanted to be, for Oliver. Seeing him smile at the female teacher made Elio hopeless for any chances he had imagined during the last weeks. Nevertheless, his gaze would always end up on the two and then he was staring again. If even just to imagine that it was him sitting there, talking to Oliver. Making him laugh. Making Oliver look just at him.

"You're doing it again."

Elio quickly tore his eyes off the teachers' table and found Marzia looking at him.

"What?"

"Zoning out."

"Yeah, we not interesting enough for you, mate?" Murray asked around a big piece of chicken in his mouth.

"Of course not." Amanda said and rolled her eyes. "Who blames him when all you ever do is talk about Quidditch…"

"Well, it isn't normal now is it? No Gryffindor doesn't care for Quidditch. You gotta at least come to one of the trainings, Elio! Just once! So you see what real Quidditch looks like. 'Course you don't like it if you only ever saw the Italians and French play. They didn't make it into the Quidditch world cup finals for what…half a century now?"

"Do you do anything different than flying on broomsticks and throwing with balls?" Elio asked dryly.

Murray grinned. "Sure we do, we win!"

And so, against all odds, Elio found himself sitting on the tribune one early Saturday morning watching the Gryffindor team walk onto the field, rather than sitting by the lake and reading a book. He hadn't meant to come at first. But Murray had been very persistent over the past few days and because the prospect of seeing Oliver somehow wasn't quite connected to the same happy tingle in his stomach anymore as it had been only a week ago, Elio had given in.

It was still early and so none of the girls were with them. At least some people were still in their right mind, Elio thought as he observed the others in the distance. He didn't mind sport in general. Back in Italy he'd been riding his bike around the countryside nearly every day. He'd loved to swim and run in the mornings. But Quidditch…the whole hype around it just didn't fit with him.

"So that's where you've been hiding."

Elio's head shot up at the familiar voice.

"Already tired of the lake?"

"No, I just…I was…Murray wanted me to come and watch them train." Elio stuttered, startled by Oliver's sudden appearance. Oliver followed his gesture to the Quidditch field where the Gryffindor team was currently flying in circles.

"Quidditch, huh? Didn't take you for much of a Quidditch fan."

"I'm not…I'm just…"

"Supporting your friend. Yeah, I can see that, you look really enthusiastic about it."

Elio rolled his eyes. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on your run? Or are you already tired of the lake?"

Oliver grinned and sat down next to him. "Just finished."

Elio tore his eyes from Oliver's long legs and looked back to the Quidditch field. Suddenly he was hyperaware of his surroundings.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Saw that there were people training. I like to come up here on the weekends after my runs."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Elio stared at him in confusion, the awkwardness of the situation momentarily forgotten.

"So what, you just come up here and…watch?"

Oliver threw him a side glance. "Yeah, what's so strange about it? I played Quidditch when I was in Ilvermorny."

Elio cocked a brow. "Were you any good?"

"Actually I was so good that I played for five years until I graduated, yeah."

"What position?"

"What do you think?"

Elio watched as Murray smashed his bat so hard at a Bladger that it shot like a cannon ball to the other side of the field in mere seconds.

"Beater."

"And here I thought you didn't care for Quidditch."

"Doesn't mean I don't know a thing or two about it."

Oliver chuckled and they fell silent again. Elio didn't know how to feel. On the one hand he'd been so caught up in his downward spiral of frustration and disappointment that all he wanted was to be left alone and bathe in his misery. But just seeing Oliver smile and have him sit right by his side, made his chest constrict with so much happiness that he simply could not keep on brooding.

As usual Oliver's mere presence was enough to make Elio feel intoxicated. He dreamt of doing reckless things. Like scooting closer until their arms touched. Like burying his face in Oliver's shoulder and breathing him in. Like saying something he shouldn't say. But he didn't, of course. For the moment, sitting next to him was enough. It was enough, because if he closed his eyes, he could already feel the warmth radiating from Oliver's body. And if he was listening very closely, he could hear Oliver inhale deeply and slowly exhale again. And that made any need for words redundant.

"Yeah! Good catch, Clayton! Good catch!"

Elio's eyes shot open and he visibly jumped when Oliver started cheering next to him.

"That was an excellent move. Did you see that?"

"Yeah, yeah." Elio mumbled and nervously kneaded the back of his neck.

"Excellent move. Well, I'll be heading back to the castle." Oliver said, as he was standing up. "Looks like your team definitely has a chance of winning the Quidditch cup this year."

"Mh, yeah. I suppose."

"Cheer up, Perlman." Oliver laughed at his lack of enthusiasm and patted him on the shoulder. "Later."

Elio cracked a half-hearted grin and watched him stalk off in his ridiculous short shorts. His long legs made them even more ridiculous, but somehow the tall blonde still managed to pull the look of. When he was disappearing down the stairs, Elio whispered: "Later."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

It was around the end of October that Miss Hughes stopped showing up after class to wait for Oliver. While Elio still saw them exchange a few occasional words in the Great Hall, whatever flirt had been going on between the two was over. Elio should have felt good about it, euphoric even. But he didn't. Because now he had to sit in class and watch her read excerpts from the book with an ice cold expression on her face. It was out of question who had dropped whom. Elio knew that Oliver probably wasn't even to blame. He'd only ever flirted back, as he did with everyone else.

As he did with everyone else…

If there was anything that succeeded in lowering Elio's expectations even more, then it was that small realization. Because as obsessed as he was with the art history teacher, Elio wasn't stupid. Seeing the disappointment on Miss Hughes face made it clear that Oliver was someone who inadvertently caused everybody to get their hopes up. Because he was someone who simply made everybody feel good around him. Of course Elio had known. He had known there was no chance for him. There were just too many things in the way. But watching Miss Hughes pout in Muggle studies and then Oliver flirt as usual with the others a class later made Elio reconsider his own euphoria in searching out the blonde's attention. What if he too spent too much time searching for things in his interactions with Oliver that weren't there? What if he too slipped from dreaming to actually hoping for something? He couldn't let that happen. He might have wished it was different, but his sense for self-preservation was higher than his stupid dreams.

So he did the only thing that made sense to him. He stopped staring, at least when Oliver was looking. He stopped participating in class and kept his answers short when Oliver wouldn't let off. He didn't stay after class to ask some more questions and most importantly, he spent his mornings reading in bed. If Oliver noticed, and of course he must have, he didn't say anything. The first few days he seemed confused as to Elio's sudden decrease in participation in class. But when all his attempts to involve him in discussions failed, he soon gave up.

It didn't change Elio's obsession with Oliver. Not one bit. He would still stare when Oliver wasn't watching. He would still day-dream about him in class. But he wouldn't lose himself in his feelings anymore. And while that was less joyful on the one hand, it also made him feel more in control of himself on the other.

That strategy worked out for exactly two weeks. Until one Sunday afternoon, when Elio was playing the piano alone in the music room, Oliver came to him. Elio wasn't really listening to what he was playing so he heard him the moment he stepped into the room. But he didn't turn around. The reflection in the window left no question as to who was leaning in the door and listening in on him. Elio kept playing for a few more minutes, then he stopped.

"Either come in or not, but close the door. There's a draught."

Elio's intention to sound rude didn't have the wanted effect, because a second later the door fell shut and Oliver walked over to him.

"What were you playing there?"

"Don't remember", Elio lied.

"Well, it sounded nice. Didn't know you could play the piano."

Elio kept his eyes firmly on the keys, but that got harder and harder when Oliver's hand moved into his view, elegantly gliding over the smooth surface of the piano like he was caressing something living.

"Where did you learn how to play like that?"

"I taught myself", Elio replied.

It was only a half-lie. He had had a few lessons with a teacher when he was a child, but that were just the basics. With his parents being so invested in the arts, they had given him the chance to learn several instruments, just to see which he liked best.

"Impressive", Oliver said. "So guitar, piano…anything else?"

"I tried Cello, but wasn't for me."

When he didn't add anything, Oliver nodded slowly.

"Did you ever…play on stage?"

"No."

"Well, it sounded good enough, maybe you should." Elio only shrugged indifferent and Oliver sighed. "Not much of a talker today, are you, Perlman?"

"Well, what do you want me to say?" Elio challenged and finally looked up to meet Oliver's eye. He immediately regretted sounding so harsh when he watched Oliver's smile disappear.

"Maybe for a start what is going on with you?"

"Why do you think there's anything going on with me?"

"Come on, Perlman. You know what I'm talking about. You don't participate in class. You don't even answer the simplest questions anymore. You look like…something is bothering you."

Or someone, Elio thought. Oliver looked at him questionably when he didn't answer.

"So am I right?" He continued before Elio could come up with an excuse that didn't sound as harsh as his previous words. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

"I know…I'm just…I'm just not in a good mood, that's all."

"Not in a good mood, huh?" Oliver repeated disbelievingly, but grinned. "Well, we can do something about that." Elio's eyes widened when Oliver extended his hand to him. "Come on."

"What?"

"Come on, get up. You need to get out of these walls. No wonder you're feeling down. Haven't seen you outside in weeks."

Elio didn't even have the chance to object, before Oliver had already pulled him to his feet. "I don't want to…" He tried to protest, when Oliver pushed him out of the classroom.

"Some fresh air and sunshine, that's exactly what you need right now."

"It's probably not even sunny outside", Elio grumbled, but still followed him.

It was sunny.

So sunny that half of the school was outside, lying in the grass or playing games, enjoying what was probably going to be the last warm day of the year. Oliver led him past their loud chatter and onto a small path by the lake, until the voices of the others were swallowed by the trees and they were all alone.

Alone with Oliver.

That was exactly what Elio had tried to avoid over the last weeks. And now here he was, walking side by side with the man he was obsessing over like the stereotypical teenager he'd never wanted to be.

"That better?" Oliver asked him after a while.

Elio shrugged. "Yeah."

Of course it was better. It was better than better and at the same time so much worse.

"So, you wanna tell me now what's gotten into you lately?"

"As I said, just…not in a good mood."

It sounded like a weak excuse even to his own ears, but Oliver let it slide.

"I guess Scotland takes some time getting used to after living in Italy, huh?" He changed the subject.

"Yeah…" Elio said, before giving himself a push. "But it's quite alright. Not as bad as everyone told me it would be."

"How long did you go to school in Italy?"

"Just two years. Before that I was in France for three years."

"Ah, Beauxbatons. Heard a lot about it. Even applied for an internship a few years back."

Elio looked up. "You did?"

"Yeah. They didn't take me though." He grinned. "Guess I shouldn't have said I was American."

"Their loss." Elio said before he could stop himself and Oliver chuckled.

"Indeed. So…France, Italy, now Scotland. Why are you travelling so much?"

"My father's a historian. He's been teaching in a lot of different universities. So we travel a lot."

"What kind of historian?"

"Greek and Romanian art archaeology."

Oliver stopped. "Wait, you mean…your father is… _the_ Professor Perlman? The one who wrote the book about Greek art history?"

"You read it?" Elio asked surprised.

"Have I…have I read it?" Oliver laughed. "Of course I read it! It's _the_ book about Greek art history! Everyone in the field knows it! Unbelievable! Perlman, of course! No wonder you know so much about art."

Elio smiled. "I learned from the best."

For a while they just walked in comfortable silence. The path below their feet led them deeper into the forest and away from the lake, until it made a big bow and ended at the water again. They came to a stop and Elio curiously looked around. The castle was so far away now that Elio could only see the very tops of the towers.

"It's nice here."

"See, what did I tell you?"

Oliver sat down in the grass and patted the space next to him. Elio didn't think long. He threw his jacket on the ground and sat down. For a moment there was a comfortable silence in which Elio let his eyes wander over the smooth surface of the dark water. Oliver had been right. It was good to escape the claustrophobic atmosphere of the stone walled corridors in the castle. It was good to finally feel the sun and the light wind on his skin again. But overall of course the best thing was being in the presence of Oliver again. Listening to his deep voice, his calm breaths, his laugh. Seeing him smile. Being with him.

Alone.

The longer he listened to Oliver talk, the further Elio felt his mind wander, until he wasn't listening at all anymore. He couldn't believe that they were actually here, just the two of them. That Oliver had actually taken him out here. It might have been Sunday, but didn't Oliver have other things to do? More important things? More important things than cheering up a depressed teenager and taking him out for a walk? Not that Elio would have felt like complaining. No, the exact opposite was the case. What he was contemplating was…was there something more to this? More than a teacher merely caring for a seemingly troubled student?

Oliver must have finally noticed his silent staring, because he stopped in the middle of his talking and looked at him amused.

"Am I boring you?"

Elio blinked. "No. No! Not at all, I was just…please, continue." He fumbled for his cigarettes. "You mind?"

"No."

Elio offered him one, but Oliver declined. Elio took a deep drag and waited for the nicotine to clear his thoughts.

"So, you want to become an art historian too?" Elio asked to get Oliver talking again.

"One day, maybe. If that's something one can become so easily." Oliver said. "For now I'm just travelling, reading, writing on my dissertation. So overall I'm studying. Just like you."

"What topic are you writing your dissertation on?"

"The Greek's philosophy of art. What?" He turned his head when Elio laughed.

"Nothing, it's just…that's definitely something my father knows a lot about."

"Yeah, it's impossible to write on that topic without referring to his works."

"Maybe you should meet him." Elio said, before he could stop himself. "I mean, you are in the same country after all."

Oliver chuckled. "Ah, I doubt that he would be interested in me. Not in the current stage of my career."

"Don't say that. My father's always interested in new input, no matter from whom. Actually he takes interns every summer when we're in Italy."

"You spend all your summers in Italy?" Oliver changed the subject. Elio took another drag from his cigarette and nodded.

"Every summer vacation, every Christmas. Since I was a child. Have you ever been to Italy?"

"A few times, yes. Rome of course, Napoli, Florence, Venice…"

"So basically every touristic city." Elio joked and Oliver chuckled.

"Yeah. Where do you usually stay?"

"Lombardy. We have a house close to Crema."

"Mh, guess I'll have to add that to my list then. Still got to visit so many places in Europe."

"I guess it's quite different to America?"

"Yeah, absolutely. I always considered New York to be too contemporary when it comes to art. Europe is…like having the chance to actually touch art."

"So you live in New York?"

"Born and raised."

"What's it like?"

"New York? Beautiful and dreadful at the same time. I've never seen so many people in one place."

Elio listened intently as Oliver started to describe his life in New York. Everything Oliver said made Elio want to go and see the places he was talking about. Maybe it was something in the way Oliver spoke. With genuine affection and enthusiasm. Elio kept his eyes on the horizon, where the sun slowly crept to its highest point. When he looked back at Oliver, the blonde had leaned back in the grass and had closed his eyes. He was still talking, but there was something more relaxed about his face. Something peaceful. And Elio found that he couldn't take his eyes from it.

For the first time he could really look at Oliver, without being afraid of being caught. His gaze wandered over the long lines of Oliver's outstretched body. His long legs, crossed at the ankles. His long arms folded behind his head. Now that he wasn't standing, he didn't look as towering and intimidating as usually. He just looked… beautiful. The sunlight made his skin appear warm and soft and Elio could feel the urge to reach out and touch. To rake his hand through Oliver's blonde hair. To slide his fingers down the side of his face and to his lips, so he could feel him smile against his fingertips. Elio's eyes wandered lower, to Oliver's chest, where his unbuttoned shirt revealed a soft pattern of dark hair. How could someone be so beautiful? So perfect?

Just staring at Oliver made Elio's heart flutter. The need to reach out and touch Oliver seemed to grow with each second, until it felt nearly unbearable. Until he feared he would at some point forget to hold back and actually reach out. Elio exhaled heavily. His head was swimming with forbidden images that only got stronger the longer he looked.

"I can feel you staring, you know", Oliver said and cracked one of his eyes open. Elio felt his face heat up and he quickly adverted his gaze.

"Was listening."

"I didn't say anything. Not in the last minute at least. What were you thinking about?"

"I was…imagining what it would be like to…live in New York."

"New York, huh? Didn't think you would find it so interesting."

"Why wouldn't I? It's…an interesting city."

Oliver chuckled. "Yes it is." He sat up and searched for something in his bag. Elio watched from the corner of his eye as Oliver pulled out a couple of peaches. "Want one?"

Elio jerked his hands up just in time to catch the orange fruit that Oliver threw at him. "Where did you get them?"

"I don't know. Breakfast."

"Ah, those."

"Why?"

"They're not the good ones. The ones we grow in Italy are the best. These are no comparison."

Oliver threw him a sarcastic look. "Well, I don't have any other ones, Princess."

Elio rolled his eyes. "Shame, guess these will have to do then."

"Guess they will."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! If you want to keep reading, you can find more chapters on archiveofourown as I'm more active on that platform :) Same title, same author name!**


End file.
